Amen: A Poem

He looks far into the horizon. Sniffing the coming
wind.
The hard faces of the crowd lighten, grow relaxed and
subtly complacent.
He rattles off the stage. Off to a new same town. Full
of new same faces.
A few of 'em split off in endless directions.
The crunch of dry earth like a hundred off tempo snare
drums.
Some rip boards from the stage.
Some go for the nails.
Others soak it in moonshine from their breasts,
cherish a last match and watch it burn.
The heat turns them on.
It will be over. We are finished. Amen.

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